


Marvelous

by worsterman



Category: Original Work
Genre: Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worsterman/pseuds/worsterman
Summary: This is a story about the end of the world.
Kudos: 1





	Marvelous

**Author's Note:**

> September Song - Agnes Obel

The world did not stop turning when it ended.  The sun still rose and set. Missing leaves on bare trees grew back. Animals taking refuge underground poked their heads out, and then surfaced, and then made new homes. The dread subsided after a week. Grief lasted longer. The sharp edge of fear dulled over time. Soon, the sawing was an annoyance stuck to the back of the mind. More like a blister than a break. It only stung when pressed. Like the animals, the people came out of hiding, took up what was left, and began to rebuild. It was all very normal. 

Any number of natural disasters could have sent the entire American Pacific teetering over its own coastline and into the ocean. Much to the credit of probability, only  _ some _ of the wide sheen of nihilistic theorizing over which catastrophe would be the one to  _ do it _ came to be. Many disasters did not happen. Still, pointing that out is of little help to the dead. 

That isn’t to say that optimism has no place in the world that came next. It’s just important to understand that optimism is for the sole sake of living. Bones floating out to sea are indifferent to the sun still hanging in the sky. Saying something is for the living is not unlike saying something is for the birds. Regardless of your opinion of birds, some things  _ are _ for them. If this were a story about birds, I would go into more detail about which birds, what things, and how seriously the matter should be taken. Forgive me if I don’t. 

This is a story about the living, and therefore optimism has its place. But to be frank, it’s not optimistic to claim that things could have been worse. It’s accurate. Only certain diseases spread. Only certain fault lines gave way. If every fault line struck and slipped, it might have been something of a geographic marvel for the few moments we were all still very alive to tell about it. Like the big bang, or the instantaneous extermination of the dinosaurs. 

Regarding the disasters that did occur: fortunately, they were not the type to plunge the entire American Pacific into the ocean. Unfortunately, they were not miraculous enough to be a marvel. And yes, it is a sad thing for the world to end only to continue on with its rote behavior. 

To understand why, maybe it would be best to specify what ended. The question is complicated, but some truth can be eliminated. It was not the Sun that ended. It was not gravity. It wasn’t science. It wasn’t humanity. It wasn’t society or innovation or knowledge or history or emotion or sustainability or compassion or companionship or competition or justice or order or etiquette or nature or nurture or hobby or music or any other very important thing. Nothing large or universal was done with. But many, many, many small things were. A childhood home, a loved one, a treasured tea set. Many small things were lost. That is why the world ended. 


End file.
